


It's Been a Long, Long Time

by roboticonography



Series: Flames 'verse [7]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Deleted Scenes, Fix-It, Gen, not a coffee shop au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-07
Updated: 2016-02-07
Packaged: 2018-05-18 20:20:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5941831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roboticonography/pseuds/roboticonography
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Deleted scene from Chapter 2 of Flames We Never Lit. Steve finds out that Peggy is alive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Been a Long, Long Time

The coffee shop was called Legend, and Steve thought it was a little pretentious.

 

He'd had to get used to the fact that he couldn't just say “coffee, please” and have that be the end of the discussion. Light roast or dark, or a blend of both? Would he like to try the special blend of the day? Did he want milk? Cream? Whipped cream? Soy? Sugar? Fake sugar? Flavour shot? Cinnamon or cocoa sprinkled on top?

 

In the time it took them to confirm his order (plain. black. hot. _coffee_.) Steve could have gone behind the counter and poured the damn thing himself. He got the sense that they might not appreciate that, though.

 

It wasn't that he objected to a _caffe latte_ on principle, or something. People often seemed to forget that he'd been to Italy, back when the only Starbuck he could name was a character from a Herman Melville novel, and that milk had been in short supply—and usually turned up powdered, if it turned up at all.

 

Fact was, black coffee was simple, and familiar. These days, Steve took simple and familiar wherever he could find it.

 

The barista placed a tall paper cup on the stand. Steve reached over to take it, then drew his hand back when he saw the name.

 

The girl nodded, and gestured to the steaming cup. “It’s yours. Careful, it’s hot.”

 

“It says ‘Karen.’”

 

She nodded again, and smiled.

 

“I’m not Karen.”

 

“I know.”

 

He looked again, and saw that a phone number had been inscribed under the name. “Oh,” he said, a bit awkwardly, taking the cup. “Uh, thanks.”

 

Back at the table, he checked his watch. Tony usually ran between ten and fifteen minutes behind schedule, which meant he was right on time.  
  
Steve took out his iPod and placed it on the table, then unfolded the headphones and fitted them onto his head. He always felt slightly conspicuous wearing them, but he didn't like the earplugs—a childhood rife with ear infections had left him with an aversion to having things stuck in his ears.  
  
He didn't like listening to music while he was walking in the street. He knew, logically, that no one was going to attack him (and if they did, they'd be in for an unpleasant surprise), but there was still something about deliberately depriving himself of one of his senses that made him uneasy.

 

He also liked to stay connected—to chat with store clerks and waitresses, even if he didn't always know what to say (and they usually didn't care anyhow). It made him feel a little less like a tourist in his own hometown if he could hear a few words spoken in one of New York's many variations on a common accent.

 

His own accent drifted back to him in times like these—from a time when he _talked_ instead of _spoke_ , before the U.S. government had paid for him to have acting and elocution lessons. What had started out feeling like an affectation had wound up becoming second nature after so many shows and speeches and public appearances, and at the time he'd kind of liked the idea that Cap, the character, didn't come from any particular part of America—that he belonged everywhere.  
  
Unfortunately, nowadays it had the effect of making Steve feel like he belonged nowhere.

 

True to form, Tony appeared the moment Steve had decided on a piece of music to listen to. He rolled in, ordered a double shot, tipped extravagantly, and dropped down into the chair across from Steve.

 

Steve pulled off the headphones and put them away carefully. “Did you have a hard time finding the place?” His tone was polite, but the question was pure wiseassery, since Tony was the one who had suggested they meet here.

 

“Excuse me, Captain Punctual. It’s easy being on time if you don’t have a job.”

 

“I have a job,” Steve pointed out. “I even have an office.”

 

“Mine’s bigger.”

 

Steve let that one fly by without comment.

 

Tony drummed his hands on the tabletop lightly for a moment. “So did Fury, or anyone…” he trailed off, looking at Steve expectantly.

 

“What? Another assignment?”

 

“No, nothing like that.” Tony had a strange look on his face. On anyone else, Steve might have called it… compassion. “So nobody talked to you?”

 

“About what?”

 

Tony pulled out his phone.

 

Steve gave him a look of open disapproval. He understood the necessity of the medium, even used it himself, but he had no patience for people who texted constantly while in the middle a conversation.

 

“I met one of your old war buddies the other day. I happened to mention that I knew you. I got quite a reaction.”

 

Steve felt his heart sink a little.

 

“Oh yeah?” he asked, forcing warmth into his tone. He wondered who it could be. There were so many now: fellows he’d met a couple of times, maybe spoken to in passing. Near-strangers who had a far more vivid memory of Cap than he had of them.

 

“Think you can make time for a hospital visit?”

 

“Sure.” Steve met with every one of them, of course, but the meetings were stilted and awkward, at least on Steve’s end. For some of the old-timers, the bright and bloody war had faded to a pastel memory, and they were looking for someone to swap stories with. Others just wanted to talk to another vet, another person who had been there, who could stand witness to everything they’d gone through. Either way, it wasn’t an exercise Steve particularly relished. “You got a name for me?”

 

By way of reply, Tony pulled up a picture on his phone and slid it across the table to Steve.

 

Steve’s first thought was that Tony had called up the wrong picture; this was a photo of a young woman, a brunette in a grey hooded sweatshirt.

 

His second thought was that the girl in the picture looked a lot like…

 

Like…

 

“That’s not funny.” The words came out deeper than usual, sort of choked.

 

“Do you see me laughing? Check the timestamp.”

 

Steve couldn’t stop looking at the picture. Her hair was different, longer; she wore no makeup, and had on modern clothes—but apart from those details, she looked just as Peggy had when Steve had known her.

 

Seventy years ago.

 

“Do you know _how_ to check the timestamp?” Tony prompted, then reached for the phone. Steve pulled it closer, cradling it in his palm now, examining every detail of the image.

 

The girl—who wasn’t, who _couldn’t possibly be_ Peggy Carter—was looking past the camera, presumably at the photographer. Her face was stern, her mouth open in indignant protest, her eyes dark and guarded. Her lips were pale pink, the rest of her skin bleached white by the camera flash.

 

Steve felt as though he were falling forward very fast.

 

Tony was still talking—something about biometric identification, and some files he found in a safe deposit box, and cryogenics, and Nick Fury being a shady bastard. Steve heard all of the words clearly, and processed some of them, nodding absently. Then Tony said something that caught Steve’s full attention:

 

“I’ve been to see her a few times now.”

 

“A _few_ times? How long have you known about this?”

 

“I don’t know, a week?”

 

Steve had learned that, unless it involved machinery in some way, Tony’s estimations of real time tended usually landed somewhere between improbable and ridiculous. So _a week_ could mean anywhere from five minutes to three years.

 

“I need to see her.”

 

“Okay, good. She wants to see you too, that’s why I—”

 

“She—she knows I’m here? You told her? What did she say?”

 

Tony folded his arms and stared pointedly until Steve stopped firing off questions.

 

“She knows. I told her. And, something along the lines of ‘oh fuck.’”

 

Steve’s loud burst of laughter caught even him by surprise, bubbling up before he could stop himself. It wasn’t funny at all, really, but he just felt so… _relieved_. And elated. If she was here—if she was _really here_ —

 

“She, um, cried,” added Tony, slightly abashed.

 

“Oh,” said Steve, feeling a tightness in his chest. It started playing in his mind, then—that last, desperate conversation on the radio. The tears in her voice as they both tried to stave off the inevitable. It had been so selfish of him, to keep her talking like that, right up until the end.

 

Tony reached over to take the phone back. Steve covered it protectively with his hand, knocking Tony’s fingers away.

 

“I need to see her,” he repeated. “Today. Now, right now, where is she?”

 

“We can’t,” said Tony, unexpectedly sympathetic. “She’s at SHIELD, under high security. She has this… there are doctors looking after her. We have to go through all the,” he waved his hand vaguely, “channels.”

 

“Doctors? She’s sick, she’s hurt?”

 

“Not those kinds of doctors, big guy.”

 

He wondered if they were the same doctors who’d come up with the crack-brained idea of putting him in that fake hospital room.

 

Steve took one more look at the screen before handing the phone back to Tony. He knew what Peggy would do if their situations were reversed—knew that she wouldn’t hesitate or falter, even for a second.

 

“We’re going to see Fury. You and me. Now.” He stood up. “You drive.”

 

To his credit, Tony didn’t hesitate—just picked up his coffee and followed Steve out.

 

Fury had been quick enough to tag Steve in when the world needed saving. He could damn well do him a favour in return.


End file.
